The Thief Rises
by TurnipSlayer
Summary: A collection of short stories featuring our beloved and almost amoral thief, Garrett. They are arranged in chronological order and, although connected, there is no overarching plot, or at least not at this moment. All stories are pre-Dark Project (Thief 1), so it's a prequel. I've tried to give them a "realistic" feeling, so no blackjacking 15 guards in a row, sorry.
1. Chapter 1

Mystery, silence, and shadows are my tools, but contrary to what my victims believe, silence is not my only ally, but noise too. If I'm shadowing a guard, and then I try to pilfer his keyring or coin purse, I don't want to be surrounded by complete silence. As with fleeing from a predator, you don't need to be the fastest in the world in any absolute sense, just slightly faster than the slowest of your companions. So it is with stealing, you just need to make a little less noise than whatever is masking you: random city noises, crickets chirping, the person's own footsteps, or even his breathing.

You should follow a similar behavior if you try pickpocketing in an open place, like a marketplace. Naturally, that's something I only do when I'm down on my luck, but sometimes even the masters are forced to do such jobs since -for some reason- my rent is always due. For example, If I want to steal a guard's booze money, I could try to approach him, cut the cord while holding the pouch and pick it before it begins to fall, so he won't realize the pull from his coin purse. It can be done, but it's unnecessarily difficult unless there is no other choice. In most situations and if it's in broad daylight, it's just easier to bump into him and say "Excuse me, good sir" while I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze just a little. His attention will be occupied with that hand, so he won't notice what the other is doing. Hence the first law of thievery: The right hand should always be noisier than the left hand.

Then there is running, which is the first ability any thief should master. Why first? Well, because before you master the craft you'll fail a lot, so you'll have to run a lot, too. In our line of work failing is not rewarded with encouragement but beatings and prison time, so you should be able to run as if the Trickster was hounding you.

Why was I thinking about all that while hiding behind that garden fountain? Well, it's a reflex and a bit of a mental routine. The Keepers taught me about these things and more, and they called them The Ten Fingers since every lesson was represented as one finger. So, when I'm bored or waiting for the next move from my mark, I end up looking at my fingers and I remember in an instant what they taught me all those years ago. At least, it beats stargazing.

I had been like that for almost an hour and I was beginning to lose my patience. Suddenly, I heard the sound of two approaching men and their indistinct conversation. It came from my right, around the corner, so I changed my position around the fountain. After a few seconds, the voices became clearer. I also began to see and approaching light, probably from a torch.

"Nay, nay, thou art a simpleton." Said a distant male voice. "Knowest thou not that such actions corrupt thy whole work. Listen well and I will teach thee what thou shalt do."

As soon as it ended I saw the two men. The man who had spoken was a Hammerite, full regalia and all, and the other looked like one of Sarnoth's servants. He was the one carrying a torch, which actually helped me a lot since it would blind him from anything to his left (that's where I was).

"But, but..." The servant muttered. "It's how he likes it!"

"Pff! Mayhaps thy master knoweth much about mercantile matters, but about the fine art of cooking he is in the dark. One doth not amalgamate lesser spirits with goodly meat, tis an unforgivable crime. Thou wilt be a much better cook if thou ignore his moronic wishes."

"I don't know..." He said while walking just two meters from where I hid. "He is a stingy coot, I'm surprised he even eats. Wages are also terrible..."

The Hammer stopped and eyed him intensively. He lowered his voice, which was a nice change since I was beginning to fear they would wake up my next target.

"Ah, that's why thou must convince him about the wine. Then thou wilt have greater wealth at thy disposal. Verily, other poor souls may benefit from that, too. Thy master's pelf is a wretched thing, but it wilt be better used in our hands."

The cook stepped back, probably thinking if that had been some kind of test.

"You mean..." He began to say.

"Yea, I can help thee with that, too. He is but a knave and his soul is troubled and needeth solace; I know I can talk him into being more generous. Perhaps then thou wilt remember that our church always needeth tithes from those the Builder helpeth. But let us not speak of this here, for one never knoweth who may be listening."

Indeed. One never knows.

The two men kept walking -this time in silence-, went past the main door and then turned left. After that, I could not see them anymore, but I heard a creaky door opening and closing; the service door, probably.

My fence, Cutty, had given me a crude map of the Sarnoth's Mansion; perhaps drawn by one of the servants, considering their ambiguous sense of loyalty. Except for old Michail Sarnoth and his personal manservant, everyone else lived and slept on the first floor, so I had decided to go directly to the second, steal the fabled Gems of Sarnoth, and get out of there quickly. What were the Hammerites doing there I didn't know, but I had heard the rumor that Michael was dying, and everybody knew he detested his sons. So yes, there was probably a whole army of confessor there trying to get a piece of the inheritance.

I had already decided which would be my entrance, in fact, that's why I had been waiting by the fountain. Every night, after he had helped his master, the manservant read a book in his study before going to sleep. We were suffering an unusually hot summer, so he never closed the window. And that window was just above me.

I was already tired of waiting that much, and what seemed like an hour had passed since the light from the window had gone out, so I guessed that was the right time. I crept towards the mansion wall and began to climb it, which is easier said than done. Still, there was a ledge here, a little gargoyle there, and I succeeded. From the window sill I observed the room. It was almost completely dark in there, but a few things could be detected. On the far side there was a bed and man slept in it, snoring and from time to time murmuring something about cakes and his mother. I stepped in, on top of the table facing the window.

Being a professional thief requires more strength than people think. From time to time, you need to do things like standing on one leg and doing some crazy gymnastic movements in slow motion while holding some object with the other foot; and at no time you should make or provoke any sound. That was more or less my situation since I was in a crouching on top of the desk. From there, in almost complete darkness and trying not to stumble over any little object, I picked up the chair; very slowly I raised it and moved it back a little. I tested it with my toe, and it seemed sturdy enough. I went down to the chair, first one foot, then the other. It creaked a little, but the manservant didn't react nor changed his breathing cadence.

"It's never enoof.. the master always wants... ¿cake?." He muttered in his sleep. Then he began to snore again.

From the chair, I went down to the floor. That's a movement that requires you to hold most of your weight -in squat position- on one leg, and then descend slowly without falling and breaking your skull. Easy to do, if the chair is stable and has strong back. However, when I was a kid I had to do that exercise dozens of times every day on top of a very tall stool. Huh, I could actually write a book just about that motion; once I failed that exercise because my big toe popped while doing it and the Keeper trainer heard me. Not the knees, not the knuckles. The damned toe.

There was a beautiful drawer by the bedside and, of course, I decided to check its contents. I tiptoed towards it and opened it slowly, in short pulls. The sleeping man was facing me and I could sense his breath. That kind of proximity always put a mischievous smile on my face. It still does.

There I found papers, papers, and more papers. There was, however, an elegant silver pocket watch and a few coins, so I picked them up. Then I left the room, which is actually the easiest part. In that case the door had been left opened (probably so the manservant could hear his master), but even if that had not been the case, leaving is one of the easiest parts. Almost nobody believes that someone opening and then closing the door to his room is a thief, so he'll go back to sleep immediately. You can tell a half-sleep person something like "Meow, I'm just the cat", and he would believe it.

Outside the room, it was pitch black dark. I knew my goal was the second room to the left, past Michael's room, but I had to enter there first since he had the keys I needed. As I moved forwards, I caressed the left wall with my fingers, and when I sensed the door I opened it (it was already half opened, though) and entered the chamber. Instantly my feet felt the cold, hard, and elegant marble tiles; a floor fit for a king, indeed. I just hoped his portable riches were on a similar scale.

The air was hot in there and it was still difficult to see anything. However, I could hear the sound of a sickly breathing. I suspected I could have danced there and the man would not have noticed me, but I chose to remain in complete silence. Besides, I felt a little bad about what I was going to do, so I trod carefully, almost as if entering hallowed ground.

Now, about the keys. I knew -everybody knew it- that Michael Sarnoth was a paranoid old geezer, and that he always carried with him the keys to his fortune, will, and everything else. To be precise, they were on a keyring he always wore around his neck.

Prowling in synchrony with the old man's breathing, I moved towards his side. Slowly and gradually, I moved aside the heavy sheets. With my finger, I blindly poked the area near his neck until I touched something metallic, then I followed its outline. It was the keys and, luckily enough, the keyring was held by a cord or similar material, which meant it could be cut. Realizing that, I remembered the Keeper's lessons and warnings about such an action, and my second finger twitched. That made me smile.

One by one, in complete darkness, I help the keys in my left hand. That slow process lasted around a minute. Once their weight was safely in my hand, I held my breath and cut the cord with my knife. The man kept sleeping peacefully.

With the keys safely in my hand, I slowly backtracked my movements and slipped out of the room. Once I was outside, I went to the next room. From what I sensed using my hands, the door was an imposing portal with two locks. The keyring had eight keys, so solving the problem was going to take a while. It was also going to be the hardest part since I can always control my movements, but I can't do anything if a door squeaks or turning the key echoes throughout the house like an earthquake.

After some trial and error, I discovered which keys were the good ones. The first one didn't cause much noise, although my heart skipped a beat when I realized the locks were triple-locked. The second one was different; I took almost a minute for every turn, and every time the damn lock grated with malevolent pleasure. I finished and then waited and concentrated on hearing, but I didn't detect anything strange. I opened the door and entered the treasure room.

After so much time treading and tiptoeing through the dark, my eyes hurt before so much light. The room was completely illuminated with two of those electrical light than never seem to run out, so I made sure to close the door behind me. Although beautiful, with a marbled floor and well-painted walls, the room was empty except for an embroiled purple curtain on my right side and a big wall safe with golden ornaments in front of me.

By the doorway and squatting on my toes, I scanned the room, watching for triggers, odd tiles, pressure plates and such nuisances. I doubted there were any of those since, after all, that was the personal room of a barely functional old man, but one can never be too careful. I lowered my head to the ground and examined the floor. It seemed safe enough and, also, somewhat dirty. Very ancient-looking grime, by the way; someone -not the cleaning lady, that's for sure- had been shuffling around there for years.

Just to be safe, I crept along the wall towards the curtain, ignoring the tacky safe. I pushed the curtain aside and, lo and behold, there was a niche with another -this time more humble-, safe. Unlike the other, this one had so many locks it was ridiculous. However, I trusted the old man's rumored dementia and hoped any potential trap had been deactivated for his safety.

I pulled the curtain back to its place and began to work. After a few tedious and plodding minutes, I got the order of the keys right and opened the safe. Nothing exploded at me, which is always good.

The safe held a few documents, two books, a stack of gold coins and a big jewel box. I opened it and for the first time I saw the Sarnoth's jewels: a black and white pearl as big as a plum, a diamond necklace, and something beautiful I didn't recognize. It had an iridescent copper-like surface, but it was shaped like a quartz. The box itself looked valuable, so I put the whole thing (and the coins) into my sack. I was going to leave when one of the documents picked my attention. One word on it, to be precise, the word 'Testament'.

I'm a curious person, and I've to admit that, for some reason, I had grown fond of the old Michael. I read the thing, and what reading it was. In short, the Sarnoth's patriarch ranted about his useless children, telling them they would inherit something just above nothing at all. He wanted his mansion and precious objects (including the jewels) to be sold to the highest bidder, and the earnings divided between "my young and grateful lady friend Catherine", a few of the servants, and something called "Saint Tobias' Eastport Horphanage for Dense Children". Such a nice man, I almost felt bad for robbing him.

After a few mischievous chuckles, I put the document back and closed the safe. As soon as I did that, the room door opened. Luckily for me, the curtain covered me completely.

"Wait, why isn't this locked?" Said a voice. "Why did we even bother to make the duplicates?"

I heard the sound of three persons entering the room, then the door closed behind them.

"It should have been closed." Said a new voice. "It always is."

"Hath the old man entered here recently?" Said the third voice. Although he talked like the other Hammer (they all talk like that), he was another one. "He is touched in the head, perhaps he forgot to close the door."

"No, no, no." Said the second voice. "I... I don't like this. We should not be doing this."

"Thou canst turn aback, but bethink thyself, a man wilt be needed to receive the blame. Thou canst be that person."

A tense silence followed.

"Yes... yes. Fair enough." Said the man. "Let's do this, but I want the biggest share."

"'Tis fair." The Hammerite said.

I heard the three men walking towards the other safe, and I took a peek to watch their criminally incompetent actions. One can always learn from other comrades.

"I think it's this key..." Said the one of the thiefs.

While he inserted the key and turned it, I decided to hide and stuff myself in the niche as much as it was possible. Their safe answered with a purring 'click', and then he opened the lid. Immediately he screamed and fell to the ground among the ensuing surprise and panic.

"By the Trickster's arse!" Screamed the Hammerite. "A crossbow quarrel, 'twas a trap! A trap!"

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" Said the other man, repeatedly. "We are taffed."

"Nay." The monk said over the moans of his accomplice. " This is what happened: we heard a thief, we entered here and saw the culprit."

The wounded man groaned and spat a string of terrible curses at them.

"But, but, you can't... he is still alive!" Said the other one.

"Not for long." The Hammerite quipped.

For that heist, I had not brought with me any unique tool, only a little sack, my knife, and my trusty 'flashy'. I always carry one of these, no matter where I am or what I'm doing; I even sleep with one. So, although I hated to give plausibility to their thief story, I doubted I could hole up there forever. So, sporting my best sly smile (not that I'm good at this sort of things), I came out from behind the curtain.

The two men saw me at once and gave a yell of surprise and fear.

"What in the..." Began to say the Hammer.

I threw the bomb at his feet and the flash of light blinded all of them. Leaving their confused screams behind, I dashed out of the room towards the stairs. While going down the stairs, I bumped into someone in his pajamas (the manservant, I think). He fell and created such a ruckus that after all his yelling and screaming, even old Michael was probably awake by then. I began to hear cries of confusion or alarm coming from all directions, and many doors opening.

I had hoped to use the servant door as an escape, but I saw an armed (although barely dressed) guard blocking my path in that direction. Luckily enough, another one -sword in hand and fully armored- opened the main one for me. He stuck his head inside, probably wanting to know what was all that noise about.

"Whats this taffin' noise?" He asked towards the darkness. And from the darkness I banged his head with my looting bag. Probably the most riches he would ever touch.

He plummeted like a rock and I jumped over him. I kept running across the garden towards my escape route by the outer wall. I had almost arrived there when an arrow whistled dangerously close to me. I dodged along the last patch of grass and hid behind a barrel just in time for another arrow to strike it.

I left my improvised cover and jumped on top of the boxes and barrels from the repair workers, and from there I grabbed at the top of the wall. Another arrow smashed against it, piercing first my loot sack. I did not bother to look at my pursuers, although I checked my bag (it was fine and it would hold). I pulled myself up and jumped down to the street. It was a three-meter jump and I didn't fall very well, but it hurt less than an arrow stuck in my back.

I kept running through The City's empty streets until the screams behind me disappeared.

The next day, while I slept, the City awoke to the news about the Sarnoth's jewels. Before that, even before the break of day, Brother-Director Filleus found a little parcel by his cell door in Saint Tobias' Horphanage. Inside it he found a diamond necklace.


	2. Chapter 2

You'd be surprised how little I profit from my heists, and I'm an independent operator. Most things I steal can't be sold at once -black market or otherwise-, they need to be 'cleaned' first. That means erasing any mention or sign linking it to the previous owner or even changing a bit the nature of the object (like melting a too recognizable coin). I don't personally do that, of course, but it's usually one of the many excuses fences use to pay me as little as they can.

Then there are the unique treasures with a very long 'tail' or 'name' (because they can catch you thanks to them), like some gems or jewels. Some of those can't be sold for months or need to be sent outside the City. The money I receive from those is always a ridiculous fraction of what the future owner will pay.

Then there are others objects that need to be broken into smaller pieces and sold during a very long period. That 'dripping', as some call such earnings, is good for a steady income, but there are always unexpected expenses. Like having to flee from your house because the local crime boss wants you to pay tribute, and he can't accept a 'no'. Huh, talk about extortion.

So I had to change my apartment to another more respectable part of the City, something that considerably reduced my funds. Naturally, I prepared a new heist to make ends meet, and who better to steal from than my pal Webster, the previously mentioned crime boss and the cause of my problems?

Now, I didn't want to steal directly from him or in his turf, not yet anyway. But I didn't need to do that, just hurt him a little, and if I could also leave a false trail pointing away to some of his enemies, well, I'm sure that would make up for all the troubles he had caused me. It didn't even need to be a specific enemy, just a general misdirection. His paranoia would do the rest.

One of my contacts -Dirty Bob- had told me that Webster was out of town, meeting with his business partners from other nations; if they were like him, smugglers and pirates, I guessed. Most importantly, he had also told me the boss' personal stash of "merchandise" had already been collected and was waiting for him at the docks. Webster's boys ran a tight operation there, mostly smuggling and protection racket, and they always set aside a cut for him. I fancied getting my hands on that cut.

Webster's headquarter in the docks wasn't as well protected as his criminal rings on Eastport and Dayport. It was mostly a bunch of warehouses where thugs disguised as stevedores preyed upon small merchants while helping the fat ones that paid well. Contributions, bribes, and gifts to the crime lord were also stored there in his personal hold.

I had begun to scout the place in the afternoon, and by now it was almost midnight. Webster's men were drinking and playing cards, and a few of them even remembered to work from time to time. It was the perfect time to strike.

I was on the flat roof of Warehouse Five, waiting for my new friend. From the distance, over the sound of conversation and merriment from the men below, I heard him approach. That was not the first time since he had been making the rounds for hours, mostly by the catwalks above ground and around the building. His noises, grumblings, yawning, and occasional spitting had accompanied me during the whole night. In my line of work, you learn to appreciate that kind of camaraderie. Pity that later I had to knock him out.

His footsteps over the metallic catwalk became louder as he approached. When the clangor became softer, I came down behind him, blackjack in hand. Then I followed him, mimicking his walking rhythm. Before turning right and continuing his rounds, he leaned on the railing to watch the people below.

"Jerks and bums, the lot of 'em" Muttered the man. By then I was so close to him I could count the freckles on his neck."Someday I'll own a warehouse and I'll hire a lot of guards, and I'll make them make silly rounds all night."

I brought my left hand behind his ear and raised my right hand, ready to strike. With a snapping movement, I grabbed his jaw and turned his head to the left, leaving his other side exposed. Immediately, even before he could even gasp, I hit him with the blackjack in the neck, behind the jaw. Instantly, he began crumble like a stringless puppet, but I caught him before he got (more) hurt. Then I laid him flat on the grating. I checked his breathing, stole his belt pouch, and after that I rolled him to his side.

Although the money is always a nice extra, it was the key inside the pouch what interested me. It opened the two steel doors at that level, which were a much easier entrance than ground level. Now I had to be quick since one never knows when a sleeping beauty is going to wake up. Still, it is the long consequent confusion when they wake up what matters most since most people would assume you are just drunk or ill. Your inability to form coherent thoughts or remember what happened to you or why you fell will only reinforce that idea. Speaking of which, I rummaged in my backpack and picked up the bottle of cheap rum. I had stolen it from one of the guys below, so no lose there. I emptied half its content on the poor man and then I left it sideways by his side.

I backtracked my steps and continued walking until I found one of the doors. I opened and, once inside, I locked it behind me. The huge hangar was dimly lit by a few gas lamps on the second floor and some torches on ground level. Unlike the exterior, the interior catwalk was not a narrow platform but a solid metallic floor since it was also the ceiling for the private rooms below. Nevertheless, most of the warehouse was occupied by the big central hangar, a shadowy maze of boxes, cargo, and pyramids of crates of all kind. There were two metal staircases leading to the first floor, one for each side.

From where I was I could see my target below or at least the entrance to it. It was the metallic green door that lead to one of the private storerooms used by wealthy merchants or select customers, in this case, Webster. However, it had one of the most efficient defense systems ever devised: an old man in a chair, sleeping and blocking the door. Besides that, I could not see what kind of locking mechanism the door used. I had to get close to it.

I went to the other side of the catwalk and sneaked down the stairs to ground level. From there I slipped between stacks of crates towards the old man until I got close to him. I was still hidden in shadows, between a wall of the private room and a huge turnip-smelling box, and I could also lean out around the corner and take a peek at the sleeping man and the door behind him. There was almost a foot between them, and a plan popped into my mind.

The man breathed slowly and heavily with his mouth agape, and from time to time he almost seemed to choke. Although that was a fascinating spectacle, I turned my attention to the door. I watched for incoming people from both sides and, seeing no one, I slipped out to check out the door.

I had to hold a string of prophanities when I saw that it didn't have any handle, only a strange and unique cylindrical lock; probably Webster's personal key. Perhaps some of his men had a copy, but I doubt I had time to find it out. The only other feature was an opening at the upper half of the door, big enough to stick your head in or out. Unfortunately, the old man's head (and mouth) was in front, covering a quarter of it.

I leaned forward, above his head (I could almost see his glottis), and checked the interior of the room. It was an elegant office, with a nice carpet and two electrical lamps. There were quite a few boxes, coffers, and crates; they all looked like the ones outside. There was also a bookshelf and desk, and above it a red button. There were two options; it was an alarm or a button to open the door.

I needed to hit that button. I crossed the central aisle and went to the other side of the room, between two crates. From there the target was on an almost straight-line trajectory... if you ignored the man's head, that is. The button was far away, and I could not see it clearly from there, so I had to aim from memory.

I knocked a blunt arrow and drew the bow with the necessary strength (not much, actually) so the arrow would fly above the man and hit the button. Or, at least, hit the geezer without (probably) killing him. I liked those odds.

I held my breath, aimed for a long time and released the arrow.

The man didn't die nor was hit, although it would be impossible for me to say how close the arrow flew past him. A distant buzz was heard when the arrow impacted the button, followed by a brief but powerful clang. The unaware guardian groaned something and his head bobbled comically for a while, but he did not wake up. Petrified, I watched him for what seemed like an hour to me, and I would have continued if I had not realized I was still holding my breath.

Even if my life had depended on it, I would not have been able to hold my peace. "Damn, I'm good." I said between gasps.

Once again, I went to my previous hiding place. The old man seemed agitated, and his breathing was much softer, hinting at a more superficial sleep. I waited a few minutes and when he began once again to breathe heavily I came out. The door now was dislodged and it could be moved, although it would not an easy job. It took me a long time, many pauses, strange postures and a few near captures when someone entered the warehouse, but at last I moved it enough to slip through.

I felt as if I was walking into a trap. I had no idea for how long I could be there, but probably not for much. The guy I had knocked out had probably been already awake for a few minutes, and I feared I would hear him scream at any moment. I opened my backpack and threw inside everything that looked small, valuable, and not too noisy. I found two gold pens, a pouch filled with suspicious spice, a ledger with a lot of numbers, a few jewels that later I would discover were fake, a hefty stash of coins (also fake, but who cares), and a silver bracelet with sapphires. I also found a stack of various -probably forged- stock shares and city bonds. I felt malevolent that night, so I stole them all; not for my personal use, evidently, but I'm sure I could throw them into the nearest sewer.

It was time to leave. It was a bit difficult to squeeze my loot through the opening, but wealth always finds a way. Once outside I didn't bother that much with stealth anymore. I strode out of there, first up the stair and then out to the outside catwalk. There I found my previously knocked out friend.

Totally befuddled, he was leaning back against the railing; he saw me and tried to stand up. He actually managed to do it for a few seconds.

"Good night." I said to him.

"G' night, taffer." He answered, and then he threw up over the railing. A second later, someone very furious cursed him from below. Others laughed. Then a fight erupted.

"Concussion. Lie for a while and it will pass." I said to him.

Leaving the ensuing chaos behind, I climbed the wall to the roof. The reinforced rope arrow I had used to go to the roof was still securely nailed and fixed to the water storage tank on top of the building. From there it connected to the nearest building, an old and abandoned block, built when developers still believed the neighborhood had a future. Not my most brilliant of entrances, it's true, but it worked. Now, if it would also work as an escape -considering my recently acquired extra weight-, I wasn't sure. I sure hoped so; I may not be afraid of heights, but it was a long way down.

I jumped and grabbed at the rope. It held up well, although it made some unsafe noises from the water tank side. I raised my legs and crossed my heels over the rope. I began to crawl along the rope, checking the ground from time to time while trying not to imagine how my corpse would look if I fell. A few meters and burned ankles later, I arrived at my destination.

There was, of course, the matter of style, which meant I still had one more thing to do. I stashed all my loot in my new apartment and then I wrote a note to Webster. I've to admit I'm not a man of letters; the Keepers tried to correct that, but I think it shows it didn't work well.

Unhindered from all the loot, I went near Webster's house and shot an arrow with the attached note trough his window. With luck, nobody would enter the room of the feared criminal lord, and he would be the first to see it. I don't know if that was the case, but I like to think it was.

 _"Dear Mister Webster._ _Even if officially we are competitors, we have always been admirers of your work, so we feel obliged to apologize for having stolen your personal stuff. True, it's not like you had earned it, but what's property anyway, right? Also, we'd like to remind you that there is no need to feel bad about your loss. It's neither your fault nor something to be ashamed just because you hire idiots as guards._ _Now, your previous actions against us weren't the kind of thing one does to colleagues. Your words and actions wounded us, but we are of the forgiving type, especially while holding someone else's silver bracelets. They'll look great as a collar to our wifes' pet dogs. They were designed for that purpose, right? We'd feel terrible if they were supposed to be a gift to one of your multiple lovers. Regardless, we are sure Webster the Fast doesn't need this kind of bribes to please the ladies._ _For all this and much more, please accept our clearly sincere apology. Being such a demanding person, we hope you read it on time and that it doesn't get drowned among the sea of other equally sincere apologies you must receive every day. Speaking of drowning, we found some evidently forged papers on your desk. Someone of your reputation can't possibly possess such criminal commodities, so we threw the taffin' things into the sewers where they belong._ _Sincerely, your friendly friends from the shadows._ _P.S.: We found a ledger with some strange numbers. There is something afoot in that warehouse, so we'll probably send that document to the City Watch. As an upstart citizen who doesn't want thugs around his stuff, we are sure you'll understand."_

A bit juvenile perhaps, and not my best work, but I think it worked. After all, that would be the first time I almost started a gang war. I think that counts as a success.


	3. Chapter 3

I was contacted by a man named Markus; Cutty vouched for him, although in his reduced vocabulary that means 'he promised a huge reward'. He was a scholar, or at least that was how he wanted to present himself. You could smell his pretensions from the other side of the City, but at least he was rich so he could indulge them. He wanted me to 'retrieve' -that was his exact word- an old book lost inside some sunken ruins on the Outskirts.

I had my doubts about the job, and it didn't help his case that I was his second choice after the first man he had hired had not returned. I told him that could mean three things: He had scammed him and didn't even bother to try the job, he had died there, or he had succeeded but kept the book for himself. Whichever it was, I told him I wanted an advance since I could be wasting my time for nothing if the book wasn't even in there. He assured me that it could not be the third option since the book had little value except for a few scholars, but -reluctantly- he accepted my demand. So, although I liked neither the idea of leaving the City nor spelunking around forgotten ruins, gold is gold; in this case, a lot of gold. I accepted the job.

That had happened two days ago. Now, for the first time in a very long time, I was outside the City. At first it was disturbing to not be surrounded by people noises and crowded buildings. However, I quickly grew fond of the new situation, and I almost fell to an atavistic urge to run around the meadows and forests. I resisted it, though, since there were (and still are) excellent reasons why people didn't leave the City, and if they did, why they didn't stray from the road. After all, half the rhymes parent sing to their children are about little boys wandering in the forest and never returning. I may not have had any parents to scare me at night, but some of the things the Keepers made me study were even worse.

Following my employer instructions, I went east along the road. As hours went by, it began to get dark, and the surrounding forest became more thick and savage, untamed even after so many centuries. The Hammers and some guilds were always trying to push back the forest, but for some reason they never could maintain their presence. People disappeared, the woods grew back quickly -sometimes stronger than before-, and the animals and other stranger things became vicious predators. My old teacher, Artemus, once had told me that many centuries ago the Hammerites were much more powerful. Apparently their domains extended from the City to the horizon and beyond; they even had a few enclaves in other continents. Now only the outlying farms and some safe outposts were completely safe.

It was dark, and the full moon was shining high up when I left a ravine and saw the bonfire for the first time. It was far away, on top of The Frisky Ratman's Inn, more a castle than a common inn. As a lighthouse high above the forest, the fire guided the tired and lost travelers to the fortress, and even its terrible name would not have dissuaded anyone who had traveled those lands in the night. The inn alone was a little fortress in itself, and a strong and tall palisade with three watchtowers surrounded it, and from what I had heard, there was always a whole squadron of battle-hardened guards protecting the place.

At intervals along the road to the inn, lamps hanging from poles illuminated the path. However, there were longs stretches of road without them, and after investigating a little I saw the remains of some knocked down poles; many of them had signs of having been gnawed. I am at ease in the dark, I have to be since it's my job, but I have to admit that for the first time in a long time, I was glad when I saw the next island of light and stepped into it. An hour later, when I arrived at the wooden wall I saw that the door was shut, but through an opening to its right I could hear a man dozing off in a guardhouse. I coughed and kicked the palisade repeatedly.

"Uh-uh? What? Who goes there?" Asked the man. He stuck his head out of the opening and eyed me as if I was a criminal. First impressions are always right, as they say.

"I'm a weary traveler that doesn't want to be eaten alive by the beasts of the forest. May I enter?"

He checked me out for a few seconds, then he shrugged. "Uhm, sure, sure."

The main gate was kept closed at night, but there was a little side door, and he opened it for me. Once inside, he looked at me once more. He seemed concerned about my bow, sword, and my general... roguish demeanor. That, and that I had forgotten to take off the hood.

"What's with the get-up? Hunting rabbits at night?" He asked.

"For protection, of course. Haven't you heard? Some people have gone missing along the eastern road." I said, making that up as I went. "People say it's those damn pagans."

I really don't know who this 'people' is, but he has saved me countless times.

"Bah, wouldn't surprise me at all if that were true. If I told you the things I've seen here..."

"Horrible things I'm sure," I interrupted him. "but I am exhausted and hungry. We'll have to catch up later over a few drinks if you have the time."

"Oh, sure. Forgive me, good sir, one can never be too safe, there are a lot of unsavory rogues along the road. We have to check everyone."

"Yes, terrible times we live in, eh?"

I thanked him for his help and wished him good night, and then I went towards the inn. It was an imposing three-story fortress that could have survived a long siege. The entrance to the inn was on the second floor, and to get there you used a monumental stairway that made you feel like a king even if later you'd sleep in the stables. The prices were steep, but I promised myself I would pilfer some of their valuables as compensation. I rented a little room for two days; it was midnight by then, and I was still sleepless, but I forced myself to sleep like a normal person.

I dreamt about monsters and man-eating fish-people, but I could not hide from them in the shadows no matter how much I tried. I escaped, somehow, but Cutty didn't want to pay me for my job, and Basso's sister mocked me because I was poor.

The next morning I awoke with a splitting headache and a foul mood, so I stole some things from the room next to me. That felt good, but I had to prepare myself for the expedition, so I spent the rest of the morning in my own room, exercising a bit and packing my equipment. Of all the jobs I had done until that day, that was the first one for which I had bought a few elemental arrows. They had always intrigued me, but they were expensive and seemed like an extravagant expense. Water arrows, pff, who needs that anyway?

I couldn't help glancing wearily at my quiver from time to time, fearing that the combination of fire, water, and even a gas arrow in there, would provoke an explosion or something equally unnatural and dangerous, but the people who made those things (and by make I mean steal or smuggle) knew their craft. I had also carried with me less volatile equipment, like a sword, enough rope to tie a cow, a few climbing tools, rations for two days, a flash bomb, and a few torches. I almost looked like an adventurer of sorts.

At noon, I left the inn. With the cruel sun mocking me from above, I then went north, following Markus' directions. Though I liked walking on broad light as much as sticking my hands inside a burrick's mouth, I didn't have much of a choice. Those were untamed lands, and nobody had bothered to build or maintain a road there. The route was full of marshes and treacherous bogs, so I wasn't going to walk through there during the night and accidentally drown myself while at it.

The sky was already blood-red when, after many hours of tramping through the damp forest, I arrived at my destination. What I saw matched the description Markus had given me. It was a boggy and filthy clearing, buzzing with insects and little animals I didn't even knew existed. A hundred feet apart, two half-submerged pillars or obelisk still endured the test of time. In the middle rose a greenish, rocky and almost spherical hill. After almost falling a few times in the swamp, I arrived at the hill, but you could have passed by the entrance and you would not have realized it was there. It was a crevice on the mossy hill, covered by vines and overgrown vegetation. Unlike the rest of the place, the soil around it was relatively solid and dry, so I left my backpack there.

Something about the hill intrigued me, and it did not take me long to realize what the problem was. It wasn't a hill, it was a dome; or had been, anyway. True, its surface wasn't smooth anymore and it seemed ready to collapse, but you could still see it. That meant I was on top of a very tall building, perhaps the tallest building in the city below; the neverending dark trees and marshes, the animals... everything, our whole world, had grown on top of the forgotten city. It was a disturbing thought, but at least it proved Markus right. I had actually thought he had been delirious about the whole 'sunken city' business.

I picked up one of my torches, lit it, and looked inside the crevice. I had expected to see a long fall, but I saw a wooden platform and other signs of masonry. Not good workmanship, but the work of human hands nonetheless; I also saw that it was a narrow and just a few meters long. I looked downwards, but I could see only darkness, so I could not tell how far down it went, but I suspected the answer was 'a lot'. I picked a pebble and let it drop. I heard the impact around three seconds later.

"Mmmh, I don't have enough rope for that." I said to myself.

If my instincts were correct, this place had been inhabited recently or, at least, had been explored; hence the platform. Recently could mean days or years, but at least it wasn't centuries. Therefore, there had to be a way down there, and I found it after a while. It was a decrepit ladder, but it would work. Unfortunately, that only meant Markus had lied to me or was an idiot. There was no way he could have known the exact location of the "hill", the entrance and whatnot, but not about the signs of recent life. I don't like surprises and lies, or dumb employers for that matter. I was going to leave that place for good when something shiny down below caught my torch's light and my attention. It glittered.

"Not everything that glitters is gold." Said my mouth. 'But everything that is gold glitters' retorted my greedy mind. "Oh, well, since I'm here I might as well explore a little and pick up a few things..."

I had been too occupied trying to find a way down, so I had not bothered to look at the walls but, as I was leaving to pick up the rest of my equipment, I saw it on the inner dome wall.

"That's an ugly mug" I muttered.

Carved on the wall were many faded inscriptions and drawings sculpted in relief. Most were an incomprehensible mess, but one was still in quite good conditions. It represented a humanoid of sorts, some kind of ugly man-toad (or a fish?), and it was surrounded by a circle of strange letters in an unknown language. Then I saw that next to the entrance stood a crude wooden cross, around one meter tall. I had no doubts about it, that was a recent addition to the decor, it even had a piece of paper hanging from it. There was a poem on it, written in our language but by someone with terrible teachers.

"Sees the Lord the manfool sings,

in the houses of stones and trees.

Sees the Lord the manfool cry,

when the tigers eates his child.

At the cross's base lay a skull with unknown symbols painted in blood. As part of an offering, it was surrounded by withered flowers and seeds, but some of the seeds had sprouted and pierced the skull. Or perhaps the skull already had those holes before. I chose to believe that. In an instant, all the rumors and hearsays I had heard about heretics, witchcraft, pagan rituals, and my recent nightmare rushed into my mind.

"Nah." I reassured myself. Those Hammers would make up anything to remain in power and scare old ladies.

However, as if mocking my disbelief, from the depths of the sunken city a terrible growl echoed. It wasn't from any animal I knew, and neither it was a human. The worst was that whatever creature it was, after growling, I heard it laugh.


End file.
